Obsession
by selemi
Summary: He knew it wasn't normal to memorize her timetable so he could intercept her path and taunt her. He shouldn't be doodling her face during all his classes, shouldn't be studying her every move and habit. It wasn't natural to follow a girl obsessively.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Oh gosh, I haven't written anything in ages. Just threw this together after a trip to DC. This really should just be a one-shot but I should get going to bed so I'll be uploading this as two installments.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, etc etc...

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><p><strong>Obsession<strong>

The lake near Hogwarts always soothed her. Whenever a particular problem stumped her, she'd escape it all near the lake. It was her own safe haven; a place where she could be utterly alone and immerse herself in sweet nothingness. Or so she thought.

Despite knowing practically everything in her year's curriculum as well as the next year's one, despite reading every book on the library's shelves; she was completely oblivious to the boy watching her. She knew nothing of her Slytherin stalker, to put it bluntly. For he was exactly just that: a stalker.

He knew it wasn't natural to follow a girl obsessively. He knew it wasn't normal to memorize her timetable so he could intercept her path and taunt her. He knew it was down right awkward to stare at her for hours in the school's library.

He shouldn't be drawing up detailed maps dedicated to her whereabouts; but he did. He shouldn't be doodling her face during all his classes, shouldn't be studying her every move and habit; but he did. He certainly shouldn't be blackmailing that Creevey first year to take pictures of her in the Gryffindor common rooms for him; but he did.

Clearly, he doesn't have the excuse of not knowing his actions are wrong.

He was hiding behind a cloaking spell that concealed him perfectly. The spell was his own personal invention. It concealed him and whatever he wished for it to conceal: like his sketchbook and pens. The spell took quite a bit of research and sleepless nights to create but in his mind, it was all worth it. It allowed him to continue his favorite illicit hobby: drawing the object of his obsession.

His drawings were true works of art. No artist's work could compare to the level of detail he put into his drawings of her. Every stray hair, freckle, and imperfection was (ironically) perfectly recording in his sketchbooks. He adored those imperfections: the pimples, the acne, the bushy hair, and the ugly consequences of her nail biting habit. In his mind, that is what made her so perfect. That is how he justified his obsessive drawings. Surely, something so unique must be recorded?

Yet, he never ached to talk to her. Of course, he taunted her regularly to keep up his ever so important reputation. But beyond that, he had no desire to talk to her in private. They had nothing to say to each other, he reasoned. She lived her life and he followed her. What could she possibly say to him about herself that he didn't already know?

And the drawings? He had the perfect hiding place for them. Each night, he'd visit the Room of Requirement to stash his drawings. At first the room was quite small, but now it was the size of a fairly large art gallery. He included every single one of his sketches, drawings, and paintings. No one could possibly find them; except of course for Ron Weasley.

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	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The whole thing about two installments was a lie. Apparently my mind is only capable of coming up with 500 words at a time for this story.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, etc etc...

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><p><strong>Obsession<strong>

Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. How can I get you to love me? Ron Weasley's thoughts had no room for anything or anyone but his latest crush. As he paced back and forth, thinking of only Hermione, the door to the Room of Requirements opened. Ron stepped back in surprise. He knew the RR was always there to help but he didn't think it could help him with his love life. He entered, curious as to what could possibly be in the room that could help him. When he entered the room and his eyes saw what it contained, he blinked twice to make sure he really was seeing what he saw.

The room was filled with hundred of images of Hermione. They were beautifully and masterfully created. He explored the depths of the room and it seemed that no matter how far he walked, there was an endless supply of Hermione portraits. There was an odd sense of tension.

After some time, he realized that he didn't know how to get back. The winding maze of pictures that he admired now trapped him in. He felt their ominous presence overbearing. The pitch black walls, floor, and ceiling finally disturbed him. He frantically ran, left, right, left again. He stopped, panting for breath. Ron found himself in a secluded room, not a winding corridor.

This room peculiarly enough did not have an drawings of Hermione. Instead the walls were covered with elaborate hand drawn maps of Hogwarts. Upon closer examination, he noticed a small black dot with the tag "Hermione" was moving though the hallways of the school; clearly headed for the library. Ron froze in shock. This was a Marauder's Map dedicated to only Hermione's location. His fingers traced the map. Ron's stomach sickened when he saw that the drawings were of not only Hogwarts but of Hermione's home, her neighborhood, her parents' vacation home in France, her aunt's house, and even the Burrow. They were in perfect detail.

The Room of Requirements must have created these, he reasoned. No sane human would devote so much time and energy to make something like this. He left the room and went to examine one of the paintings. He need one last bit of evidence to prove his claim. He flicked his wand out and whispered "lumos". With the wand's light, he search the painting for some form of artist signature. On the right hand corner of the painting he found what he was looking for. In green ink the tiny letters "D L M" were scribbled carelessly.

His worst fears were confirmed. Someone was stalking Hermione.

He heard a door creak. Someone else was in here. He heard the boy whistling tunelessly. Ron made a mad dash toward the source of the whistling. Just when he was near the exit, the room started growing darker. He found the door but to his horror it was fading away. He flung himself forward, grasping madly at the rapidly fading handle. Before he opened the door and left, he took one quick glance back and caught a fleeting glimpse of a pale boy.

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	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Third chapter. There has been some confusion about its status. This is **not** finished (unfortunately).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, etc etc...

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><p><strong>Obsession<strong>

The pale boy paced his maze of Hermione angrily. How could that Weasel find this place? No doubt he'll run to Hermione and that Potty too. All his work will be ruined. He had to hide it. But how? Even he can get lost in the vastness of the room now. A concealing charm! He didn't know how much time he had so speed was of the essence.

After painstakingly concealing the first half of his paintings (the ones that could be seen upon entering the room), he began to work on the ones that were deeper within the maze.

Just as he started concealing the drawings in the back, he heard the creak of the door.

"Its bloody freaky, Hermione," he heard the Weasel say.

The pale boy froze. They couldn't see him. His wand was busy concealing a particularly large portrait. He placed it gently on the ground and ran into the depths of his own asylum.

"What should I be seeing, Ronald?" Hermione asked briskly. She had been interrupted from her book and was annoyed.

"No," he said shocked, "There were hundreds of them."

"Well, if they, whatever they are, are concealed, this should reveal them," Hermione replied pulling out her wand. "Finite!" She cried. Nothing happened.

The boy let out an audible sigh. He knew that theoretically, only he should be able to undo the charm but in practicality, he had never been able to test it.

"Wait," said Hermione cautiously. "Did you hear that?"

The boy silently cursed himself and noiselessly ran down the corridor.

"Someone is here," Hermione decided. "We will find them."

The boy panicked. If they went too far, they'd come across the unconcealed drawings. He ran back to his wand, which was done with the magic, and shot up sparks that appeared near the font of the room. He heard the Weasel excitedly notice the sparks and their rapid footsteps toward them. The boy relaxed for a bit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate for an escape from this mess. If he left the room, he couldn't prevent them from seeing his work. He couldn't possibly conceal them all fast enough. He closed his eyes and paced back and forth.

Meanwhile, Hermione went farther into the room and left Ron to deal with the wild goose chase created by the sparks. How dumb did the caster think she was? The utter darkness of the walls, floor, and ceiling, unnerved her but she tried to ignore it. She turned left at a crossroads and her eyes popped when she saw the walls covered with drawings and paintings of all sizes. They were all of her. Ron wasn't kidding; there really were hundreds.

Hermione was speechless. She didn't know whether she should be disturbed or flattered. She never saw herself as beautiful but whoever did this certainly did. The faces looking back at her were so beautiful. And yet, they had the same features as she did. They shared the same nose, the same freckles and bushy hair; even some of the same pimples! Upon closer inspection, she found a signature in a green messy scrawl: "DLM". She knew she had to find this person.

The artistic stalker had finally come up with a plan. He would find Hermione and knock her unconscious before she found the paintings. She'd never have to know about this room. He'd obliviate the Weasel. He ran to the little room with the map. Who knew how much time he had?

He paused a minute to admire his handiwork before he started searching for Hermione's exact location in the Room of Requirements.

This map was his pride and joy. He was especially pleased with the drawings of her home. That had been difficult. He had to lure the Grangers to vacation in France. It took him days to finish his drawings. After all, couldn't spend all his time at their house. He couldn't arouse suspicion.

The Burrow was surprisingly easy. Did the Weasleys really believe they won all that money from the Daily Profit by luck? A small bribe here and some blackmailing on his part won them that money. Naturally, they went to Egypt to visit the Weasley that lived there. What was his name? Will? Bill? No matter. He had gotten what he needed.

At last, he found her on the map. He gasped. She was coming this way.

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><p>REVIEW! (please?)<p>

I apologize that they are a tad short.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Last chapter (finally!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc etc...

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><p><strong>Obsession<strong>

Of all the things she expected to find; she didn't expect this.

"Malfoy?" She asked surprised. Understanding struck her like lightning. "Draco Lucius Malfoy. DML. It was you." Her voice went limp.

Malfoy's face paled. He closed his eyes. His plan ruined. He couldn't even deny it. He didn't know what to say. His reputation ruined. His obsession ripped from his hands.

"Why did you do it?" She asked curiously, with no contempt in her voice.

He sighed. She of all people deserved to know. He beckoned her to follow him. Malfoy lead her though the maze into another room. This had nothing but wooden crates. He opened one and shuffled though various tied up scrolls of parchment. Hands shaking, he handed her one tied in red ribbon. He gripped the wooden crate for support since his knees were shaking.

Hermione Granger. Why does a mudblood fascinate me? How can Hermione be a mudblood? She's too kind and helpful for her own good. Always bailing out idiot Longbottom in Potions. Always letting Potty and Weasel copy her work. Why does every one of her imperfections make her seem more perfect than all those girls covering their faces with makeup. Father told me what mudbloods are: disgusting, stupid. Why isn't Hermione?

She's too unique, too different, too rare. She needs to be remembered. Not as some boring old witch in history who saved the wizarding world and discovered some obscure discovery. But as a real person, a young woman. Yet, she's a mudblood. She's supposed to be dull dreary and boring. Disgusting and vile.

Her looks confuse me. They are not disgusting but rather the opposite. Is this what beauty what looks like? Pansy always asks me if a particular outfit makes her look beautiful. I always tell her I don't know. She gets angry. What does beautiful really mean? Does it mean lots of makeup and frilly dresses? Then Hermione is not beautiful. But she is clearly not disgusting. She is a paradox. Mysterious and strange.

I hate her. I'm intrigued by her. I insult her. I'm enthralled by her. She slaps me, I want to feel her fingers on my skin again. She ignores me, I want to hear her voice. Who is she? What is she?

She eludes me. I will know her. She is natural. I am a freak. She is good. I am evil.

Hermione looked up at him as if she had never seen him before. In a way she never had. She never knew about this side to him. She didn't know whether to be afraid or flattered; to be angry or hopeful.  
>He closed his eyes. Fearing the worst. Preparing himself for her backlash. He felt two fingers on his cheek. He opened his eyes in surprise. She was stroking his cheek.<br>"You're not a freak," she whispered. "You're not evil."  
>He pulled away from her. He rolled up his sleeve and showed her his arm. The dark mark etched into his pale skin forever.<br>"Even so," she gently pushed his arm down and embraced him. "Immoral actions don't make you evil."  
>"Hermione?" They heard Ron calling. She pulled away from Malfoy. He smelled smoke. His heart pounded heavily in his chest.<br>"YOU!" Ron yelled when he saw Malfoy. But Malfoy paid him no attention. He made a mad dash for the source of the burning smell.  
>"Malfoy!" Hermione called after him and ran. Naturally, Ron followed too.<br>Hermione noticed the smell too. When she caught up with Malfoy her heart sank. His pale face was lit up by the flames that were consuming his drawings. He sank to his knees and dropped his head. He made no effort to save his precious work.  
>"Ron!" Hermione yelled angrily. It was quite obvious that Ron cast the flames. She used her wand to douse the fire but the damage was done. Soggy paper and wet ashes collected on the floor in front of Malfoy.<br>"Malfoy," she knelt down next to him. "Draco, I'm terribly sorry."  
>He glanced at her. There were tears gliding past his cheeks. His eyes were empty of any emotion.<br>"Leave me," he said tonelessly.  
>"Hermione," Ron said nervously.<br>"Shut up, Ronald," she snapped.  
>"Draco, please. I-I can help you," she offered.<br>"Leave me," he said again. "Please, leave me."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She got up and glared at Ron. He understood the message and made for the exit. Before she too left she said softly, "You're not evil, Draco. Nor a freak."

Draco got up. He pulled out his wand and burned any remains of the drawings. He worked his way though his asylum; burning every single image of Hermione. Each incantation, each swish of his wand, pained him so much. But he knew it must be done. He burned the scrolls in the wooden crates. His own person diary filed with nothing but thoughts about Hermione; his only thoughts. He left his precious map for last. He burned it slowly, even though it meant prolonging his pain. When the flames consumed Hermione's tag waiting outside the Room of Requirements, his eyes spilled tears again. He choked on them.  
>He finished his way back to the entrance. The smoke and burning smell lingered in the air. He breathed it in even though it made him cough uncontrollably. He relished the feeling. He was sure he was insane. The walls were truly bare. He felt utterly alone.<br>A wooden desk and chair appeared. The desk was supplied with a slip of parchment and a well of ink. He sat down and wrote. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. It was almost over. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled out his wand one last time.

Hermione woke with a start. She was disappointed to find herself still outside the door. He couldn't possibly stay inside there forever. She walked in, ready to drag him out if she had to. When she saw him in front of her, she gasped in shock.  
>"Draco," she panicked. His head was at an odd angle. His cold fingers clutched his wand. There was a smile on his face. His eyes serenely closed.<br>"No, Draco," she moaned. "Draco, why?"  
>She found a roll of parchment paper on the desk with the words:<p>

_" Because I am evil. Because I am a freak._

_ D.M.L "_

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><p>AN: I have a couple questions for anyone who reads this. Is Draco in love with Hermione? Why did he kill himself? I don't understand why the story unfolded the way it did. I want to know what you guys think. Does this last chapter make sense? I'm terribly confused by what just happened.


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